


The Ghost in this Room

by All_time_lowest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Comfort Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season 11 Spoilers, bottom!Castiel, top!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-12 18:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11167749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_time_lowest/pseuds/All_time_lowest
Summary: Set after the argument in the bunker after Castiel spares Metatron's life. Dean lets some things off his chest he's been needing to say, and gets some answers he's been needing to hear, and the hunter and the angel find comfort in each other while they recover from the aftermath of the Mark and the spell and look at how they got to where they are now, and the way things have changed over time from something physical, to something more.





	1. Broken

_Now there’s a ghost in the back of this room_

_And I don’t like it_

_I fall asleep with my covers pulled up_

_And try to fight it_

_I gotta say it’s hard to be brave when you’re alone in the dark_

_I told myself that I wouldn’t be scared_

_But I’m still having nightmares._

“You let Metatron go? Seriously? Come on Cas.” Sam shook his head. He’d retreated from the war room, not wanting to hear any more of that fight, but their voices were carrying on down the halls of the bunker.

“You let Amara go.” Dead horse there Cas.

“Oh, yeah, that’s great. Weren’t you the one who told me ‘I’m just a man.’ A man versus God’s friggen sister, yeah, _so_ sorry she got away from me. What’s your excuse man? Mortal versus Angel, should have been like crushing an ant, isn’t that the phrase you used once?” Sam cringed at that one, Dean was pulling all the low blows right now, and Sam knew he should stop listening, stop eavesdropping on their conversation, but that wasn’t going to happen, and though his back was to them, he could almost picture the way the Angel’s face would crumple at the reminder of the piss poor ‘God’ he had been.

“Dean-“

“No, don’t ‘Dean’ me, that fucker took your grace, did God knows what to your wings, has got heaven against you, killed me and you let him _go-_ forgive me if I’m pissed right now.” There we go, Sam thought. Dean was using his words, albeit masking concern and pain with anger, but he was using them, and that was a step. Sam pushed farther down the hallway and into the kitchen then, deciding this was probably about to go places he definitely didn’t want to be around for.

* * *

 

“You let him walk away, and you, dammit Cas, you don’t have any idea how he might try and screw you over next.” Dean’s voice was hard, and he wasn’t looking at Cas, a feat that was unnerving for the angel, whose eyes never left Dean. Never left his pinched brow, or his set jaw, but Dean’s gaze was anywhere but on Cas.

“Dean, I – I can explain.” He stumbles, arms gesturing weakly and Dean finally looks at him, and Cas almost wishes he would look away, because the raw hurt in his eyes is almost too much for him. It’s almost too much for the hunter to be disappointed in him.

“Go right ahead then,” he says dismissively, flinging an arm in front of him haphazardly in Cas’s direction.

“I couldn’t kill him Dean… After what I did to you, to my brothers, I couldn’t even leave the bunker. I tried to do what you said, but I couldn’t get passed the front door, but then I saw him on TV, I knew where he was, and knowing – knowing he killed you was the only thing that got me out that door, because that was something he couldn’t get away with.”

Dean’s face had softened, the hard lines of anger falling from his features to the gentleness of concern, and his eyes were meeting Cas’s earnest ones again.

“Seeing him, so pathetic, and helpless, and unable to do anything, I just couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t stop seeing myself hurting you, I couldn’t stop feeling like that mindless animal she turned me into. He was weak and hurting Dean, and I, I’ve hurt and killed enough people, even if he did deserve death.”

Dean shook his head, clenched and unclenched his fists at his side and strode across the room until he was standing in front of Castiel instead of across the table from him.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was still affecting you like that?”

“You and Sam were busy, I didn’t want to bother you.” Dean looked to the floor and scoffed before running a hand over his face.

“Didn’t want to bother us. Yeah,” he groaned. “Cas, if you’re in trouble, I want you to talk to us, to me at least.”

“You don’t talk about your problems Dean.”

“And look how that’s worked out for everyone.” He laughs, but there’s no humor there.

“Dean-“

“I’m serious Cas. You’re important to us, to Sam and me. And the three of us, we’re good together, but you need to talk to us.” His hand twitches forward, and Dean puts it on Cas’s shoulder, running his thumb in circles, trying to soothe the angel that looks wound tight enough to break.

“You’re important to me too, Dean.” Cas mumbles, no longer meeting the other’s eyes. Dean laughs again, and this time there’s a slight mirth to it, but not in a pleasant way.

“Could have fooled me recently.”

“What are you talking about Dean?” The hand falls away and Cas already finds himself craving the hunter’s warm touch again. Touches from Dean are few and far between, and always too brief and chaste, but he can never bring himself to ask the other for more.

“Between the Crowley thing, Purgatory, and Naomi’s whatever she did to you, and then running off because _you_ chose to, I’m sorry if it doesn’t really seem like Sam and I were on your priority list.”

“I was with Crowley to let you have your life with Lisa and Ben, because you lost Sam and I wasn’t going to ask you to help me while you were mourning your dead brother, Dean.”

“Maybe people should stop assuming they know what’s best for me, how about that huh?! You and Sam both can take that and cram it where the sun don’t shine ‘cause I was miserable for most of that. I lost Sam and I lost you too, fuck the apple pie life I wanted my friend and my damn brother and you both took that choice away from me.”

“We were trying to make you happy Dean.”

“And staying behind in Purgatory, was that supposed to make me happy too?” Cas looked away and Dean shoved him in the shoulder. “What was that for Cas? Cause it sure as hell looked like you doing anything to keep from coming back with me.”

“I told you why I stayed.”

“No. You gave me a half ass excuse is what you did.”

“You don’t trust easy Dean, and you had trusted me, and I did everything, _everything_ to betray that. I hurt Sam. I didn’t think you could ever forgive me for that, and I couldn’t forgive myself, I couldn’t bear to go back knowing I’d broken that between us.”

“Are you seeing the mistake yet?” Dean says, gesturing wildly between the two of them. “Making assumptions and decisions for me? Cas I was just so damn happy you were alive, and then you did that, and it felt like you were choosing fucking monster land over me. How the hell am I supposed to take that?”

“That’s not what I was doing Dean.”

“Yeah I got that much Cas,” he grumbles, taking a heavy step back to lean on the edge of the table.

“Dean, I care for you more than anything in my existence. I have chosen you over my family, and my life, over and over again.” Dean lets his head fall back, eyes slipping closed.

“It’s been a rough few years Cas.”

“You don’t think you’re important to me,” Cas states plainly.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore Cas.”

“Then we won’t talk,” he says, and he steps forward, grazing his fingers along Dean’s neck and a soft exhale falls from the hunter’s lips. “I think you need this.”

“I don’t want to just fuck Cas,” Dean says, and he looks in the angel’s eyes and there’s a longing there Cas has seen before, but never been able to interpret.

“I never said that had to be all,” Cas says lowly, quietly, and Dean swallows hard. “Dean, I think I need this too.”


	2. Nightmares

_Every little thing got me coming back around_

_Digging up old memories_

_Always used to be the one to let it go, kept my fears in a suitcase_

_I locked them away, in a place they wouldn’t find_

_They still haunt me_

This wasn’t something new to them; their relationship wasn’t something defined, or something they talked about, it just was. It was born out of a joking promise and a desperate loneliness left behind in the empty space of his brother. A space the angel who had rescued him from hell also saved him from, and it was fluid.

Sometimes it was just a fuck, a release from how much stress or frustration the other was dealing with, sometimes it was desperate, driven by lust or fear, and sometimes it was this. Sometimes it was loving the other all the ways they couldn’t love themselves, sometimes it was quantifying what they had. Sometimes it got a little bit close to love.

Cas had settled his hands on Dean’s waist, and Dean was cupping his face with his hand, the other wrapped around the angel’s back.

“You need this Cas?” Words spoken against lips, breaths mingling in the small apace between them.

Cas lets out a breathy yes and Dean closes the small gap between them, pressing his lips to Cas’s, and its so much gentler than their usual pace. The two of them could count on one hand the times they’d been intimate like this, lips brushing and hands tentative, not a flurry of clothes and clashing of teeth, a different kind of desperation fueling the fire between them.

“I didn’t take care of you before Cas, but I will now.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Where to Cas?” Dean had asked, looking at the ang- the human from over the roof of the Impala, getting small glances of their reflections in his baby’s shining paint. Cas doesn’t answer though, and his expression is tired, more so than Dean thinks he has ever seen it, and there’s a wall there, something he’d put up since he’d left.

Dean takes his non-answer as an answer, and he pulls away from the house, from the disaster they had left behind, and he drives. It doesn’t take long for Cas to ask where they’re going, as the trees blur in a mass of brown and green around them and the road winds beneath them like a snake, but Dean doesn’t answer, doesn’t because he doesn’t want to hear any kind of protest. He has to leave soon, go back to Sammy, go back to the angel possessing him, but right now, Cas needs him more. Ezekiel has Sam, they’ll survive another night.

These weeks, he’s been playing a horrible game of who needs him more, and it’s been eating at him since he’d had to walk the angel out, since he’d had to see taillights fade away instead of hear the flit of wings, since he’d had to choose between his best friend and his brother, who he could take care of. It had both been an easy choice, and a hard one. Easy in the fact that it was a helpless, dying Sam versus a powered down but still capable Castiel, but hard in that you can’t choose between two people you love, you can’t pick who you want to hurt, you just can’t, but he had to, and he was looking at the consequences now, looking at this broken human in his front seat and wishing things could be different.

He was wishing Cas had listened to him outside that church, he was wishing Metatron hadn’t lied, he was wishing Castiel wasn’t so trusting, that they hadn’t trusted Metatron in the beginning, that they’d never gone to him in the first place, he was wishing he had never let Sam start those trials, and he was wishing he hadn’t sent Cas away. He couldn’t change any of that, but he wouldn’t be Dean Winchester if he didn’t give himself a fair amount of ass kicking for his mistakes.

He pulled into the motel he’d been staying at and shoved the car into park before climbing out and striding over to Cas’s side. It was a cool night and even the crickets didn’t seem to want to interrupt the silence the two had formed. The gravel of the parking lot crunched beneath his boots and the door of the car squeaked as he pulled it open and held out his hand to the angel.

“C’mon Cas,” he said, “I can take you back in the morning.” Cas hesitated, almost like he wasn’t really hearing Dean’s words, before he stood, walking past the outstretched hand, and Dean felt like it was because of more than the delicate way the other man was holding his arm.

“This is unnecessary, I can go back to the store,” he says, not meeting Dean’s eyes, his gaze to the ground instead, toeing a rock beneath his shoe. Dean puts an arm on his back, gentle but firm, urging the other man forward.

“I need to look at your arm, I ain’t leaving you like that,” Dean says, as if its enough to make up for the other ways he’s left him, the other ways he’s practically abandoned the fallen angel.

“I can- I can take care of it Dean,” he says but its half-hearted at best, knowing the hunter wasn’t going to back down, but wanting to give him the out, because putting it out there himself was better than having it thrown in his face.

“Alright. Level with me Cas. Look me in the eye, and tell me you’re alright, and I’m not just talking about your arm.” Cas’s gaze flicked up to him, and his mouth opened before his lips closed again, forming a tight line as he realized ‘ _he couldn’t lie to Dean, not again,’_ and he bowed his head and let himself be led into the motel room.

Dean closed the door, locking it behind him before pulling the duffel off the floor and riffling through it, looking for the first aid kit they’d gathered over the years. This was the first thing he could do, he could fix the man the way he knew how, help heal him the only way he really could, the only way he really felt he deserved to at this point.

It wasn’t anything fancy, an ace bandage and some splint wood, that was what they kept on hand, because it was versatile, interchangeable, and compact. He would get something better in the morning, before he left. Before he left Cas alone _again._

It made his stomach turn, knowing the danger the man had been in just that night, to even think about leaving him alone again, but he had something here, a job, a friend at the very least, and Dean couldn’t offer him anything else. He was tied between what felt like drowning and what felt like his chest imploding.

“Let me see,” he says gruffly, and Cas extends his arm to him, and Dean frowns at the way the skin there is bruised, at the way his normally slender wrist is swollen. “I’m going to have to set it back, on three ok?” Cas gives a short nod, and Dean counts to two before forcing the joint back into alignment, and Cas cries out, unused to feeling the full brunt of physical pain, used to it being dulled, even when his angel powers had dwindled they had shielded him from so much, and here he was, like a raw nerve, exposed to the world. “Sorry,” Dean mumbles, hating to be the one to drag such a sound from the angel’s, he has to stop thinking about him as an angel, lips.

“It’s fine,” Castiel croaks, and Dean realizes how close they are, nearly breathing each other’s air, his fingers still wrapped loosely around Cas’s injured arm.

“What did he mean?” Dean asks, and for he first time since they’d left Nora’s Cas looks him in the eyes. “About choosing a human life being giving up? I mean,” he chuckles awkwardly, stepping back and releasing Cas’s arm. “You didn’t choose this.”

“Many angels believe, that a human existence is below an angelic one. I suppose that’s what he meant, I,” Cas huffs, shaking his head, “I don’t really know.” His eyes flicked to the side, in a way Dean knew meant he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“You don’t?” He challenges, looking down at Cas, and he wants to take it back when the shame crosses Cas’s face, lips parted gently as his blue eyes rove over the dingy motel carpet.

“He was, disappointed, at what I’ve become, hiding, he thinks its cowardice.”

“What the hell are you supposed to do?” Dean snaps, “every one of those winged dicks is out for you, if you aren’t careful you’re dead. Is that why he was there? Is that why he was tryin to kill you?”

“No,” the word is out of his mouth before he can stop it, and he wishes he had held his tongue because he knew Dean would press, and it would have been so much easier to say yes, to say that was all it was, to not have to explain himself. Dean throws his arms out in a questioning gesture and Cas sighs. “Ephraim was… misguided. He thought he was helping.”

“Helping how?” Dean asked, before turning away and rifling through the cooler, pulling free ice and spinning around looking for a small towel to wrap it in.

“He was ending their pain. Dean, I brought him here.”

“But you’re warded,” Dean said, fingers brushing down his arm before pulling it back towards him, resting the cold pack on his wrist where the damage was worst.

“He senses pain, he could see it despite the warding. Dean, if I hadn’t drawn him here those people, they-“

“That’s enough,” Dean says. “That ain’t on you, that’s on him. Come on,” Dean pulls him in carefully, wrapping his arms around the other man and dropping a barely there kiss to his hair. Cas clutches the back of his shirt with his good hand, the other outstretched awkwardly, burying his face in Dean’s neck.

Dean pulls away sooner than Cas wants him to, and Dean hates the fear he sees in the once fierce blue eyes, and he’s quick to assure him he isn’t going anywhere, and it breaks something in him to see the relief crowd over tense features. He wished he didn’t ever have to go. But fate was cruel, and he wondered if this wasn’t some long overdue punishment, making his brother and his best friend need him the most at the same time.

He runs a hand over Cas’s jaw, lingering at the back of his neck, before pulling him in decisively and pressing their lips together. It’s a soft kiss, not desperate like many of the ones before, because that’s not what Cas needs right now. Cas melts into the kiss, his body melding against Dean’s, chest flush against the hunter’s own, and a trembling hand still wielding a vice grip on his shirt.

His other hand is on hipbones that are more prominent than they used to be, and Dean wonders if he’s been eating enough, and figures he probably hasn’t, probably doesn’t know what “enough” is. He tightens his grip on the man, running his tongue across Cas’s bottom lip, causing a small gasp to escape and mouth to part willingly, letting their tongues roll together.

It’s a lazy kiss, and Dean’s putting so much of himself into the motion it hurts, trying to push as much raw concern and care into it, as if he could make Cas understand with the action, as if he could tell him he was sorry, and convey his regret without saying any words. Because he couldn’t say anything, not yet. He couldn’t explain himself, so it was better not to speak.

They part reluctantly, and Cas is shaking gently in his arms. “Come on Cas,” he says, leading the other man to the bed. Dean shucks his overshirt, and goes back to his bag, digging out a pair of sweats and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, and if anyone asked Dean why someone who always packed the bare minimum brought two pairs of sleepwear for a one night hunt, he’d adamantly deny there was any kind of purpose behind it, that he just wanted to be prepared or something equally flimsy and unsubstantial.

He hands the sweats to Cas and shucks off his jeans, slipping up the bottoms and looking up to see Cas wincing as he tries to maneuver his injured arm to a position where he can undo the button of his jeans, the sweating icepack abandoned on the bed cover.

Dean gently brushes his efforts aside, and pops the button for him, sliding the fly down and helping shimmy the garment down his legs. Cas looks embarrassed, not at the exposure but at the helplessness of it all, and Dean pulls the sweats from limp arms and holds them out for Cas to step into, before pulling them up to hang loosely on the others hips. He undoes the buttons on Cas’s shirt with ease, knowing this was probably another task he’d struggle with, and his face is hot at the unwitting intimacy of it all.

Cas mumbles a thank you as Dean helps him slip his injured arm out of the sleeve. Dean picks up the wrap and splint, situating the wooden pieces where he wants them before wrapping gingerly. He tucks the end of the wrap into itself, and weaves his hand through the hair behind Cas’s head, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead before stepping back and climbing into the bed.

Cas stands there for a moment, swaying slightly on his feet before climbing in, perching himself on the very edge of the bed, as far from Dean as possible. When Dean reaches over and rests his hand on Cas’s right bicep the dams break.

“All right,” Dean grunts, pushing himself closer and pulling Cas’s arm so he turns to face him. That seems to cease whatever hesitance had been holding Cas back, and the smaller man let’s himself be tugged in close, burying his face in Dean’s neck, his leg slipping between Dean’s and his good arm returning to it’s grip on his shirt.

Dean’s neck is wet and Cas’s body is shaking and he’s letting out these gasping, choking, _broken_ sounds and Dean just grips him closer.

“It’s gonna be alright Cas,” Dean soothes, and he wants to say so much more, say ‘I’ve got you,’ and ‘I won’t leave you again,’ but he can’t, he can’t lie like that. He can’t whisper meaningless promises into the space between them, he can’t try and make him feel better tonight by making it worse tomorrow.

“Everything – hurts,” Cas chokes out and Dean rubs his back, and when his hand runs over bony shoulder blades Cas whimpers, and Dean _never_ wants to hear that again.

“I’m so sorry Cas,” Dean whispers, because he _is._ Because this is his fault. Because Cas fell for him, and this is what he got. Cas fought for him, and this is what he got. Was tortured by heaven, outcast by his family, and powerless because of Dean. Cas, who tried and tried to do good, was broken, and Dean couldn’t fix him.

“It’s so much worse now… I feel _everything_. Guilt, and pain, and shame and loss and-“ he pauses “love and I can’t-“

“I know, Cas.” _Love?_ Dean wonders, the others make sense, are misplaced because this wasn’t _Cas’s_ fault, it was Metatron’s, it was God’s, it was anyone, _everyone_ else’s. But not Cas’s. He was trying, so hard, always trying. So he fucked up along the way, and yeah, maybe Dean didn’t always see it that way, sometimes he was angry with Cas, but only because he was worried. Because Cas didn’t understand deception well, he couldn’t comprehend that someone would _want_ to hurt their brothers and sisters, he was naïve and that wasn’t bad, but it was dangerous.

It was some time before the crying subsided completely, before the vice grip on his tee loosened and fell slack, and it was just gentle puffs of air against his neck instead of tears and desperate gasping. He stayed awake, holding his friend for awhile longer, stroking his back, and then, going back to his shoulder blades, and immediately regretted it when Cas burrowed further into him, shying away from the touch, a barely there sob catching in his throat as he slept.

Dean roamed to safer territory, deigning to run his fingers through Cas’s hair instead, and smiling when it seemed to ease the tautness of his frame, but doing nothing to loosen the entanglement they’d gotten themselves into, arms around each other and legs intertwined.

Dean fell asleep tangled up in his sleeping friend, nose buried in soft dark hair, hand resting above his hip, just below the markings freshly etched upon his tanned skin, the ones that were the only thing standing between a fragile human and all the angels of heaven, and he hoped, _prayed_ even, that it would be enough to keep him safe until he could bring him home, and he wished he could tell Cas _when_ , tell him _why_ , even if it didn’t really matter, even if it wouldn’t really help Cas now, or make Dean feel any better.

            For the first time in days, maybe even weeks, he wasn’t sure anymore, time had become irrelevant, only knowing it had been _too long_ since Cas had been safe with them, Dean slept. Dreamless and dark, he slept.

His first instinct was to grab a gun, and he probably would have if his arm hadn’t been trapped under what woke him to begin with. Cas was _screaming_. His body was contorted in a tight knot, his head nearly between his knees, curled in on itself, and Dean fought to keep the panic down, worried it was some kind of possession or delayed reaction to the angel’s powers earlier that evening. He was halfway to pulling his arm out from under the other man and reaching for the holy oil when it the sound gave way to silence.

“Dean… please. No…” He grabbed his friend’s face with his free hand, and realized Cas was sleeping still, he was just dreaming. He stroked his thumb over sharp cheekbones, urging Cas to wake.

“Cas, come on, wake up dammit, that isn’t real.” He says urgently, dropping his hand to bare shoulder and shaking, a sheen of sweat causing the skin to be slick beneath his grasp.

“Stop it… please,” Cas whimpered, and then he was screaming again.

“Shit, come on wake up! Fuck!” Dean swore. His shaking grew desperate, and finally Cas’s eyes snapped open, unfocused and wild, hand gripping at Dean’s arm, nails digging into his skin. “You with me Cas?” Dean asked, and Cas nodded weakly.

“Dean-“ Cas started but Dean hushed him.

“You’re alright Cas, you’re alright here.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas mumbles, and Dean has to fight not to tell him to shut the fuck up, that there’s not a damn thing he should be apologizing for. Instead, he doesn’t say anything, he just starts singing _Hey Jude_ , and stroking Cas’s hair again.

His fits are less violent through the rest of the night, but he continues to end up thrashing, waking Dean and causing the man to pull him in close again, and continue singing until the panic subsides, and the softness that looks so right, yet so unfamiliar on Cas’s features, returns.

It’s a long night, and in the morning Dean swings into a _Walgreens_ and buys a proper brace, undoing the wrap and fitting it properly to Cas’s arm in the front seat of the Impala, and just like that, Cas is gone again. In more ways than one, gone to Dean, gone to the angels, gone to the world. He’s just _Steve_ now, and Dean didn’t think there was a name that could taste fouler on his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently this fic is turning into reshaping scenes that I felt were glossed over, like Cas’s PTSD, the implications of what Ishraim said, etc. Comment, I love hearing what you think, and if you have any suggestions of episodes or scenes you’d like me to address let me know and I’ll do my best to incooperate them. I may go back and write when they started actually being a “thing” or I may not, haven’t really decided yet. Anyway, thanks for reading!
> 
> I have a writing blog at cassiel-of-Thursday.tumblr.com if ya’ll are interested, I take prompts and update about what story I’m writing and post snippets. So yeah,   
> See ya’ll!
> 
> Cassie
> 
> (Also, chapter one was titled off of a Lifehouse song called Broken, and this chapter is titled off an all time low song called Nightmares. Should give them a listen, they're great :))

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something that came out of a rewatch of season 11, and I just felt like there have been a lot of things that need to be said that go unsaid and some closure that needed to happen, so let me know what you think. This is my first time writing for SPN so sorry if things are a little wonky, but it's weird enough for Dean to talk about feeeeeelings at all. So here we are.


End file.
